Riddles by the Dugout

Maya stood by the pool, clutching her baseball glove like a lifeline. The water sparkled with that perfect Instagram-filter blue, but inside she was basically drowning. Tryouts for the varsity team were tomorrow, and her curveball still had all the finesse of a potato launcher.

"Hey, rookie," called Jordan, the senior shortstop who was basically baseball royalty. He tossed something pinkish-orange toward her. "Catch."

Maya fumbled but managed to grip the object. A papaya. What even was her life right now?

"It's good for your grip," Jordan said, suddenly serious. "My abuela swears by it. Also, it's way better than that protein powder garbage everyone's chugging."

Maya took a tentative bite. Surprisingly not terrible. "Thanks?"

"You're nervous," Jordan stated. "I can feel it from here. You keep looking at the dugout like it's some kind of sphinx that's gonna devour you if you answer wrong."

She laughed despite herself. "Pretty much. Coach Miller has those riddles, you know? The ones he asks during tryouts?"

"Ah yes, the sphinx routine." Jordan slid into the pool, creating a mini tsunami. "Here's the thing about riddles — they're just questions in Halloween costumes. And Coach? He's not looking for the right answer. He's looking for how you handle not knowing."

The water rippled around Jordan, distorting his reflection into something almost mythical. A sphinx of baseball wisdom, maybe.

"So what's the secret?" Maya asked, genuinely curious now.

Jordan grinned, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. "No secret. Just own your awkwardness. Last year, I accidentally called him 'Dad' during my riddle. We laughed about it, I made the team, and now we're here eating papaya by the pool like absolute weirdos."

Maya looked at the papaya in her hand, then at the absurdly perfect water, and finally at Jordan — who was currently attempting to style his wet hair into something presentable and failing spectacularly.

"Okay," she said, confidence bubbling up like spring training hype. "I've got this."

"Atta girl." Jordan tossed her a wet baseball. "First one to hit the diving board from here buys lunch."

"You're on."

As she wound up for the throw, Maya finally understood something Coach Miller would probably appreciate: sometimes the best answers aren't answers at all. Sometimes they're just taking the shot and seeing where it lands. Even if that meant throwing a baseball at a diving board while eating papaya beside a senior who gave accidentally-solid life advice.

Her throw sailed wide, splashing into the water with an anticlimactic splosh.

"My treat," Jordan said. "But seriously, you've got the arm. Just trust it."

Maya smiled. Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so terrifying after all. Even sphinxes had to let people pass eventually, right?